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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880430">All That Remains in My War-Ravaged World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project7723/pseuds/Project7723'>Project7723</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MacGyver (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jack's Kids Gon' Take Care of Each Other, Le Angst is Real, Mentioned Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2015), Started writing, bon appétit, had a break down, spy siblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project7723/pseuds/Project7723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley’s world fades when the shot rings out, vision tunneling to the man who, a moment before had been elbow deep in a bucket of miscellaneous items intended to save their lives, but is now folding to the warehouse floor like he’s a marionette and someone has snipped his strings.</p><p>
  <i>“Mac!”</i>
</p><p>Or, even in death, Jack is saving Mac's life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Riley Davis &amp; Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All That Remains in My War-Ravaged World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After this, I'm probably just gonna pretend 5x05 doesn't exist. He's ours, now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>You're a legend in my own mind</em><br/>
<em>My middle name</em><br/>
<em>My goodbye</em>
</p><p>Twenty-Øne Pilots, “Legend”</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Riley’s world fades when the shot rings out, vision tunneling to the man who, a moment before had been elbow-deep in a bucket of miscellaneous items intended to save their lives, but is now folding to the warehouse floor like he’s a marionette and someone has snipped his strings.</p><p>
  <em>“Mac!”</em>
</p><p>Sound is muted beneath the rushing in her ears and she isn’t entirely sure who the shout belongs to, but she thinks it might have been hers. She only realizes she’s moving when someone shouts her own name, but she can’t stop, can’t listen, can’t <em>think</em>. All that matters is getting to Mac.</p><p>Her knees hit the concrete with a crack that she feels more than she hears as she skids to a halt at Mac’s side. His eyes are closed and for a moment he’s still, deathly still, but then his chest spasms and he lets out a hollow gasping sound. It’s strained and <em>wrong</em>, but she doesn’t have time to ponder it before a shot clips a strand of her hair and she is dragging him to cover.</p><p>“Mac. Mac?” She pats him down frantically, pushing aside his jacket as panicked eyes search for the wound. A dark stain blooming red against the white of his Henley, center-left and about six inches below his collarbone.</p><p>“No, no, no, no, no. Don’t you do this to me, man.” She tears off her baggy over-shirt and presses it against the growing stain. “You do not get to die right now. I am not losing you.” Her voice is adamant, only trembling slightly as she pushes harder, fisting her ruined shirt in desperate hands. <em>Not you, too.</em></p><p>Mac’s eyes fly open and a strangled cry grinds its way out. Eyes clouded with pain and confusion find hers and Riley frowns at the drop of water that plunks on his cheek before another falls and she realizes she’s crying.</p><p>“You stay with me, man.”</p><p>A shaking hand closes around her wrist and he makes a few gasping attempts at her name.</p><p>“Hey, shh. Don’t talk, just hang in there, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”</p><p>
  <em>You’ve gotta be.</em>
</p><p><em>I need you</em>.</p><p>“Riley.” It’s a croaking whisper this time, but it’s her name, and her focus cuts from her reddening hands to his eyes. They’re clearer now, pain still evident, but the confusion gone.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m o—I’m okay. I’m okay.”</p><p>“Mac.” They’ve danced this dance before. She grasps the familiarity like a lifeline. “You’ve got a bullet in your chest and you can’t even breathe right. You are not okay.” She presses harder. Mac cries out again. She draws back as if burned.</p><p>“Riley.” A choked rasp as he rolls onto his side and tries to sit up.</p><p>“Whoa, wait, what are you—” She reaches out to halt him with hands that shake, but he catches them.</p><p>“I’m okay, jus—just help me up.”</p><p>She hesitates, but he doesn’t stop moving, jaw clenched tight with pain as he struggles to sit up on his own. “Okay. Okay, just—here, take it easy.”</p><p>His own fingers tremble as he settles against the crate at his back, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt until Riley pushes his hands away and does it herself. She peels the shirt away from the bloodslicked skin with one hand and plants the other against the pulse point in his throat. His heart beats rapid and sporadic beneath her hand, but it’s stronger than she expected as she turns to reach for her own bloodied shirt. Her plan to reapply the makeshift compress is aborted when she sees his face.</p><p>Mac’s chin is nearly touching his chest as he stares down at the wound, an expression she has never seen on him masking his pale features and stopping her short. He swipes at the blood and for the first time, she catches sight of the wound. It glints oddly in the afternoon sun that streams through the warehouse windows.</p><p>“Whoa, hey. Don’t touch that, man.” Her voice rings foreign and unfamiliar in her ears.</p><p>Mac catches her wrist again. “Riley.” His voice is stronger now, soft and almost sad as wide eyes once more find hers. “It’s okay. See? That’s the bullet.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He wipes at the blood again and pulls her hand toward his chest. She stiffens, pulling back, eyes fixed on the wound. She can’t breathe. Another swipe, smearing the blood, this time with the corner of his Henley.</p><p>“Hey.” His voice is gentler than she’s ever heard it. “It’s okay. Trust me.”</p><p>Brown eyes cut to blue and she allows him to guide her hand to his chest. Her fingers brush against something hard and warm and...metal.</p><p>Her breath catches as she looks down. The bullet is lodged in Mac’s chest, still protruding enough that she can feel it’s cooling ridges beneath blood-slippery fingers. A strangled sob wrenches its way out and she sits back heavily, her hand still clutched in Mac’s grasp.</p><p>“I’m okay, Riles.”</p><p>Her eyes are wide when she looks at him. He’s smiling softly, his grasp on her wrist gentle but firm as he lifts his free hand to thumb at the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, wincing when he realizes how bloody his hands are.</p><p>She catches his fingers and holds his hand to her face, pressing a kiss to his knuckles as he rubs his calloused thumb back and forth over her cheek. At some point he must have let go of her other hand, because it’s wrapped around his wrist now, and his free hand is firmly cupping the back of her neck as he murmurs words of reassurance that she doesn’t hear into her hair.</p><p>It’s a long moment before she notices another presence behind her and realizes the shooting has stopped. She knows Mac can see over her and he doesn’t tense, so she doesn’t bother to move from where she’s somehow ended up curled into him, her face tucked against his neck. There is shuffling on Mac’s other side, and then Bozer’s voice, but she doesn’t process the words. Mac says something back and his voice rumbles low against her ear. Then more shuffling, scraping, voices. The smell of blood is suddenly cloying and sharp. She blinks.</p><p>“...she alright?” Desi.</p><p>“She will be.” Mac, rumbling deep in her left ear, floaty with the echoes of the warehouse in her right.</p><p>“Are <em>you</em> alright?” Russ, now.</p><p>Riley inhales sharply, the metallic tang nauseating, sitting up so quickly Mac lets out a grunt as the situation floods back to her.</p><p>Three pairs of brown eyes cut nervously between them, eyes widening almost comically when they land on the blood coating Mac’s chest. Her hair is wet and sticky against her neck. It must have been obscuring the wound before she sat up.</p><p>“Mac…” Bozer again, at Mac’s side. She feels her own horror come flooding back at the sight of the wound, the red, the way Mac still pants slightly.</p><p>“I’m okay,” he assures the team hastily, catching her hand again and squeezing when he sees she's spiraling. “It’s not deep. I think it’s lodged between the ribs.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>She doesn’t realize the question was hers until the others glance at her.</p><p>Mac’s hand goes to his throat and for the first time Riley notices the metal chain there. He tugs at it and there’s a clinking sound before a set of dog tags falls free, a bullet-sized hole punched right through them.</p><p>“Your dog tags,” Desi speaks up after a moment. “You still wear them?”</p><p>Mac shakes his head, not looking at her. “They’re not mine, they’re…” He trails off.</p><p>“They’re Jack’s,” Riley whispers, reaching out to brush her fingers over the raised letters, metal stained, smooth, raised, dented, and now sharp where the edges of the holes the bullet had left curl out again in torn, jagged peaks. Coated in blood. “They’re Jack’s.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Mac’s voice is low and tremulous and she raises her eyes to find him staring at the bullet in his chest, the hair that had fallen in his face hiding the tears welling in his eyes from the others. She lets the tags go and his hand comes up to clench them tightly enough his knuckles go white. She squeezes the hand he still holds, and he squeezes back, clearing his throat.</p><p>“The, uh—the bullet hit the tags and turned. I guess...I guess they slowed it down enough to keep it from doing any serious damage.”</p><p>The team is silent and Mac rambles.</p><p>“It, uh—the bleeding’s mostly stopped now, I think. It’s not deep. Knocked the wind out of me more than anything. It, um—I think it’s between my third and fourth ribs.” The hand that holds the tags is shaking now, and a rivulet of blood runs down his wrist.</p><p>“Mac, buddy.”</p><p>Mac’s eyes cut to Bozer’s.</p><p>“The tags.”</p><p>Mac looks down and sees the blood. He just sighs and lets them drop back to his chest. He’s pale, now, small quivers running through his muscles. Russ kneels beside her and drapes his jacket around Mac. Mac’s head jerks clumsily up to look at him.</p><p>“Shock,” Russ explains, before standing and turning away to speak into his comm.</p><p>Riley doesn’t let go of his hand while they wait for the ambulance, and he doesn’t say anything, clutching hers right back. She doesn’t let go when the medics assess the wound and lift him onto a stretcher, and she doesn’t let go when they load him into the bus, making their efforts more chaotic than necessary as she jumps in before they’ve got him fully inside.</p><p>She lets go when Desi pries her fingers free as they try to wheel Mac into the OR. Riley whirls on her, ready to fight, but Desi grips her fingers in her own now, and she speaks gently, her other hand gripping Riley’s shoulder. “Gotta let them do their job, Riley. He’s okay. They just need to get the bullet out. Doc said it should only be an hour or two. He’s okay.”</p><p>Riley nods, her eyes filling with tears as she searches Desi’s eyes for reassurance. She doesn’t even have the energy to be surprised when Desi pulls her into a hug, her hands firm as they rub up and down on Riley's back and her sobs finally break free.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>The metal is cool in Riley’s fingers as she turns the tags over and over, rubbing her thumb across the interrupted name, blood type, serial number. She can practically hear Jack’s voice telling her she’ll wear away his most important form of ID if she rubs much longer. <em>Identity theft is not a joke, Riley!</em> She smirks and wraps the chain around her wrist a few times, cradling them in her palm as she reaches with the other hand to take Mac’s, thumb running back and forth over his knuckles.</p><p>She’s been sitting with him for nearly an hour, now, waiting for him to wake up. The doctor assured them he was only out because of the anesthesia and should be waking up any minute. The nurse that keeps coming in to check on them seems surprised it’s taking him so long.</p><p>Riley isn’t.</p><p>With the way Mac had pushing himself since Jack—since they brought down Kovacs, Riley suspects his body finally decided it’s had enough. His system crashed and now it needs to reboot.</p><p>Bozer had sat with her at first, but left eventually to get coffee and clothes for Riley. In the meantime, someone had given her some scrubs that, while blissfully free of her best friend’s blood, were still scrubs. Stiff and scratchy, foreign against her skin, one more thing to chip away at her frazzled nerves.</p><p>Four more hours pass, concerning the nurses further as Mac shows no signs of waking, nodding confused acceptance when Riley tells them again that he has no allergies to the anesthesia they had administered, checking and rechecking his numbers before finally leaving again, shaking their heads.</p><p>Riley has changed, eaten, and downed a double shot latte while she waited, and an hour ago Bozer had returned a second time to bring her a bottle of water and a liter jug of orange juice. It had become something of a routine in the last two years. While Jack was away, Riley took the vigils by Mac’s bedside in medical or whichever hospital they landed in, and Mac took the vigils by hers. Bozer made sure neither one ran themself into the ground. They’d told themselves that it was temporary, that Jack was coming back, but after a while, she saw Mac had stopped believing it. And a while after that, she stopped believing it, too.</p><p>But this time is worse. This is the first time she’s had to sit here knowing that Jack is never coming back, that Mac will never wake up to the safety of his partner again, the low rumble of his voice coaxing him into awareness, the calloused hand brushing back his hair. Knowing it should be Jack sitting here, and it never will be again.</p><p>Mac sighs and she stops the thoughts in their tracks. If Mac is waking up, the last thing he needs is for her to be having another meltdown when he comes to.</p><p>“Hey,” she says softly, clearing her throat. “You in there, Mac? I know that sleep must feel pretty good, but I’d really love it if you could let me know you’re okay. Just for a minute, you know, then you can go right back to dreaming about—oh, I don’t know—unicorns.” She gives it a beat. “Oh, yeah. Jack told me about that. I’d love to know what brought <em>that</em> dream on. And that was a cat nap dream. What do your dreams look like when they’ve got you on the good stuff?”</p><p>Another routine they’ve settled into. Rambling softly so the other has something to latch onto as they fight their way through layers of sleep toward the waking world.</p><p>“You know, they say that dreams are reflections of what your subconscious wants, but that can’t be right, man, ‘cause one time I had this dream that Barney the dinosaur was tearing up the Phoenix with a chainsaw, and that is definitely <em>not</em> something I want. He was wearing one of Bozer’s prosthetics and everyone thought he was Legolas, which is how he got in in the first place.”</p><p>Mac snorts, barely more than a sharp sigh, and she runs a hand over his hair.</p><p>“There you are. Think you can open your eyes for me?”</p><p>He turns toward her voice, blue eyes cracking open to blink at her in confusion.</p><p>She smiles. “Hey.”</p><p>“Hey.” The frown deepens. “What, um…”</p><p>She gives him a moment. She’d learned even before bedside watches had become her job that Mac is usually disoriented when he wakes up in a hospital or medical. Too many visits blending together in his drug-slurred mind.</p><p>She sees the exact moment he remembers what happened, eyes going from sleep-fogged to keen focus in a blink. He reaches out to her and she catches his hand.</p><p>“You okay?” His voice is rough, the words clumsy, and she adjusts the bed so he’s sitting up before offering him her water bottle.</p><p>“Thanks.” Louder, smoother, now. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Am I okay?” She tries for a laugh. “Mac, my man, we’ve been through this before. You’re the one who had a bullet in you.”</p><p>Mac isn’t fooled. “Riles.”</p><p>“Really, I’m fine. Not a scratch. And Bozer’s fixed me up with food and juice, so all good in that department, too.”</p><p>“Riley.”</p><p>She looks up.</p><p>He’s giving her a Look. <em>You know exactly what I’m talking about.</em></p><p>She drops her head, twining her fingers through his and closing her eyes.</p><p>Mac waits.</p><p>“I thought I’d lost you, Mac.” Her voice wobbles and she bites her lip. “When I saw you go down? I thought—” she shakes her head, and clears her throat. “I can’t lose you, Mac. I can’t.”</p><p>“You didn’t, Riles.” He squeezes her fingers. “I’m still here and I’m okay.”</p><p>“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath and nods, pushing away the <em>almosts</em> and <em>might-have-beens</em> that threaten to overwhelm her. Mac doesn’t need that any more than she does, right now. “Yeah.” A sheepish huff. “Hey, uh...sorry for losing it all over you earlier.”</p><p>“Don’t be. Hey.” He finds her eyes. “Riley, don’t be. Okay?”</p><p>She swallows, shooting a <em>thank you</em> smile in his direction.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” she ventures when she trusts her voice again. “Got somethin’ for you.” She turns his hand palm up as she fishes in her pocket. The tags hit his hand first, sharp side up, then the chain, sliding from her fingers and coiling beside the tags.</p><p>Mac’s face crumples.</p><p>“Whoa, hey! What’s wrong? I thought you’d want them back.”</p><p>He shakes his head. “I just, uhm.” He clears his throat, but his chin trembles when he speaks. “They’re ruined.”</p><p>Under different circumstances, Riley might have laughed. “What?”</p><p>He shrugs, turning his face away as his eyes well. “They’re ruined. The bullet took out the <em>W</em> and most of Dalton, not to mention half his serial number. I’ve had them for like, two weeks, and I’ve already messed them up.”</p><p>Riley is quiet for a moment as she considers the best way to proceed. She had been so relieved she hadn’t lost her brother, it never occurred to her that Mac would be feeling guilt over the damaged tags. But of course he would. He’s Mac.</p><p>“I don’t think Jack would see it that way,” she starts slowly. “I think he would be proud of it.”</p><p>Mac turns to look at her, skepticism practically radiating from him.</p><p>“Oh, come on. You know how he was about his scars. ‘Just mileage, baby. Shows where I’ve been,’” she says, growling out her best Jack imitation. Mac just looks at her. She smiles, tears gathering in her own eyes, again. “And a scar that saved the life of his kid?” She fights to keep her voice steady. “You know he’d wear those tags like a medal of honor.”</p><p>Mac stares down at the pattern on his gown. His chin quivers again and a huge tear rolls free.</p><p>“Jack was more than just his tags, Mac,” Riley all-but whispers. “You haven’t lost him.”</p><p>He’s quiet for a long moment and when he does speak, his voice is low and rough. “He saved my life, Riley. He’s dead, and he’s still saving my life.”</p><p>Riley nods slowly. The thought had occurred to her, too. “Yeah, well. He was your overwatch for a long time. I guess old habits die hard.”</p><p>Mac nods now, jaw clenching as he drags in a long, shaky breath and slides into control again. He smears the tears away with his thumbs and smiles at her. “Thanks, Riles.”</p><p>She returns the smile, bumping her shoulder against his and hoping the gesture is enough to cover the worry she feels. If Mac doesn’t let himself process Jack’s death soon...Well, she doesn’t want a repeat of last year. After Codex, his dad, Lasky. But, she reasons, this time if (<em>when?</em>) he breaks, she’ll be watching for it. She’ll be ready to catch him, and they’ll deal with it together. With their family to have their backs.</p><p>Mac is watching her with concern, now, and she deflects. “Hey.” A nod toward the tags in his hand. “Better file those edges down before you put them on so you don’t slice yourself up again, there, Butter Fingers.”</p><p>He chuckles, seeming to notice the bandage on his right hand for the first time. “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.” Then softly, earnest eyes seeking hers, “Are you sure you’re okay, Riles?”</p><p>She considers a moment before answering, choosing her words carefully. “Yeah, Mac.” They’ve lost friends. Family.<em> Jack</em>. And she has no intention of losing Mac—be it to a bullet or the darkness inside of him. “As long as you’re here, I’m okay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You will never convince me that Mac doesn't carry Jack's tags under his clothes. Always.</p><p>Thank you for reading, sweet soul. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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